


En amour on n'sait rien

by redradioflyer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Romance, Dating, F/F, Love Confessions, M/M, Sex on a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redradioflyer/pseuds/redradioflyer
Summary: Francis, the self appointed god of romance, finds himself infatuated with perhaps the least romantic person on the planet. He sets out to seduce him but just ends up seduced and love stricken instead. But how do you pursue a man who seduced you quite by accident?





	1. Seducing Alfred

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the oldest fics that I'm transferring over. I had so much fun with it, but it does feel less polished than some of the newer things I've written. Still! I hope someone enjoys it!  
> Also the title means, In love we know nothing. It is also from a song called Comment te dire by Kyo. The lyrics are apropos for some of the major themes of miscommunication in this story 
> 
> _How can I tell you_  
>  _The words won't come_  
>  _Free the sounds of my voice_  
>  _I'd like to stop time_  
>  _Give to you_  
>  _But let me tell you_  
>  _In love we know nothing_  
> 

Francis tries to tell himself that it isn’t poor Alfred’s fault that he was raised by England. Anyone would have a skewed view of romance if they had been raised by Angleterre. This just meant that his work was a bit more difficult than he’d initially imagined.

If he could at least manage to convince Alfred for a brief fling with him… well even that would make him a very happy Frenchman.

Despite the American’s nonsensical personality and ridiculous plans, he is a zestful, passionate person, and of course Francis has noticed the strength in his toned body. Perhaps  _ _mostly__ toned is a better way to put it, but he finds even those little love handles of Alfred’s to be rather pleasant.  

Francis’s plan is simple: lure the American in with his delicious food and seduce him with good company. Alfred is a simple, easy to please sort of person, and Francis is certain that it’ll be easy to convince him to at least indulge in a quick fling if he handles the American properly. After a meeting at which Alfred had managed to somehow eat 15 hamburgers, Francis strikes and extends an invitation to the American to come be served ‘real food for once’.

Alfred, the glutton that he is, accepts.

When Alfred shows up for dinner, Francis does all the right things: flowers set up around the house for fragrance, candles, pretty words, kisses that linger on Alfred’s cheeks just long enough to make him blush. Casual touches and whispers in his ear.

Alfred is happy for the attention, accepting it eagerly. He scolds him a bit—“You’re so touchy feely. Such a perv.”—but he’s teasing and doesn’t actually think or realize that Francis is earnestly hitting on him. Alfred stays to drink with him for a while, but he returns to his hotel room despite all of Francis’s insistence that he stay.

“They have a pool!” Alfred tells him happily. “’m gonna swim first thing in the mornin’ so I can’t cancel my reservation.”

When he’s gone Francis continues to drink alone, deciding that Alfred will require some persistence.

Francis starts a routine afterwards, sending Alfred an invitation every two weeks or so to come dine with him. Alfred always accepts. The routine becomes comfortable, natural, bonding over good food. Sometimes after they eat, they drink together and sometimes they watch a movie. Sometimes Francis just listens in bemused silence as Alfred rambles on about the newest ‘cool thing.’

As silly as those things can sometimes be, Francis is surprised to find himself actually  _ _enjoying__ Alfred’s nonsense chatter. He teases the American of course—but he enjoys it.

Perhaps that’s why he forgets why he started inviting Alfred in the first place. He continues to hit on the adorable man, but Alfred is as oblivious as ever. His designs on the man are lost in the sincere enjoyment of his presence.

 ____

 Then, in one decisive moment, infatuation turns to love, and Francis realizes that he’s in much deeper than he thought.

The day starts in a normal enough way. Their ritual of eating together becomes so natural that Alfred begins to invite Francis into his home to cook if the Frenchman doesn’t call for long enough. When he arrives this particular evening and lets himself in, he finds Alfred curled up with a comic book. The man is grinning and positively giddy from whatever he’s reading. Being the person he is, Francis assumes porn and sneaks up behind him to peak…

“This is Batman…” he says in confusion. “Not porn at all.“

Alfred nearly jumps out of his skin and gives a surprised shout. “F-fuck you what the hell Francis jeezus!”

“What are you reading that has you grinning so, mon Amérique?” he asks, giving him the customary peck on the cheek that the American has grown used to as ‘some silly French thing.’

Putting a hand to his chest and trying to calm down, Alfred says, “Comics. It’s, uh, a Batman-Catwoman story. It’s pretty cool. They kissed, is all.” He blushes and shrugs, repeating lamely. “It’s pretty cool.”

Francis laughs at this and tries to take the comic from him, but Alfred is embarrassed now, closing it and moving away. “I’ll put it up so I can help you cook okay?”

“Is that so? They kissed and you are… sentimental? I didn’t realize that you were a romantic Alfred.” Francis is teasing of course. Alfred doesn’t know romance even when he’s staring him in the face.

“I’m not a romantic!” he protests. “But uh.” He flushes again, trying to figure out how to put this. When he starts again, his tone is defensive. “There’s all these reasons they shouldn’t care about each other but…  they just seem to love each other so much anyways…” Alfred looks up at him with his cheeks pink, and his blue eyes are uncertain, betraying his embarrassment. “I just really like it is all.”

Francis’s own cheeks are red now, and he feels his heart speed up as he watches Alfred get embarrassed for liking a fictional romance. “I see. It sounds terribly romantic Alfred.”

The other fidgets with his glasses and smiles, excusing himself to put his comic away.

Although he’d already abandoned his designs on him before, once he’s realized that his own heart is entangled in a very serious way, Francis knows that he has to redouble his efforts. Clearly Alfred isn’t totally devoid of any love for romance, but none of his tricks have worked up until now. He’s thinking he’s going to need help—or at least a kind ear to listen to his tragic tale of woe.

____

Seychelles purses her lips at him when he shows up. Francis holds up a box of pastries and gives her a smile. She rolls her eyes and gives him a sweet peck on each cheek. “So who’s broken your heart this time?”

Unlike many people, Seychelles knows that France wasn’t merely a pervert or a player. She is well aware that Francis loves falling in love and being in love and giving love. On more than one occasion, he’d shown up at her door drunk and in tears because his love affair had gone sour. He’d also shown up with presents on other times, asking her to listen and help him win someone over.

Francis had even tried to win her heart once upon a time, but after kissing him once, she’d pulled back and made a face at him. “Your facial hair feels funny. As expected if I have to kiss someone from your neck of the woods, I’d rather be kissing Monaco.” Francis respected her wish and left her alone, though he did tease her sometimes for her preoccupation with his sophisticated little sister. 

“No broken heart this time!” he assures her.

“Then who are you trying to seduce?” she asks as she lets him in.

He makes himself comfortable and nods, waving his hand. “I’ll tell you but don’t you laugh. It’s… Amérique…”

Seychelles does laugh, in fact, amused. “Him? Really? He’s clueless Francis. You surely could pick someone easier for a quick fling?”

Huffing, he looks hurt. “You wound me, ma chérie. I’m quite serious about him. Won’t you be a dear and help?”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs, sitting down and snatching a pastry. “What do you want me to say?”

“Can you at least listen to my story and have a sympathetic heart? It’s had me terribly frustrated.” He gives her a melodramatic expression of torment.  

She rolls her eyes affectionately and listens patiently as he tells his story, how all his romantic nothings haven’t helped, sighing over how sweet and cute Alfred was, so naïve, so boyish.

At the end of it all, she just shrugs and says, “You’ve been trying your tricks and nothing has happened so far. What do you want me to tell you that you don’t already know? Invite him to do stuff he likes. Better yet, it’s Alfred. Just tell him you like him.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not nearly romantic enough for me, Seychelles. I’ll have to woo him first. So in the big moment, he returns my confession.”

Seychelles laughs and shrugs, telling him that she doesn’t know what to do either. She spends the afternoon with him regardless of the fact she can say nothing to help. He really just wanted supportive company anyways.

___

Without much more of an option, Francis continues his plan, his new objective to find out what precisely the American finds romantic. He asks pointed questions during their dinners at first, but Alfred always lets the questions roll off him like water.

“I’m not dating anyone right now,” he always answers. “So doesn’t really matter what I find romantic.”

Francis becomes increasingly more exasperated, but he still enjoys their dinners, enjoys Alfred’s company. He is surprised, therefore, when it is actually Alfred who makes the next move. 

____

After dinner is cleared away one night, Alfred suggests a game. They move to the living room to sit on Al’s carpet to spread out the silly board game. Alfred is almost immediately absorbed in the “mystery of the game” and though Francis finds it a bit silly, the American’s excitement is as contagious as ever.

“Really what sort of name is Mrs. Peacock anyways?” Francis asks, sipping his wine.

“I dunno,” Alfred said, already tipsy. “Ask Iggy-brows. Game came from his country.”

They continue to drink and play a few rounds. In the end, the alcohol is too much for Alfred to continue concentrating on the game. When Francis is distracted moving his piece, Alfred’s fingers end up in his hair.

Francis looks up, shooting him a simpering flirtatious look. He was always ready to flirt with the man. Before he can say anything though, the other is interrupting him.

“I bet your hair tastes like moonlight,” Alfred says, fingers running through the soft blond hair. He’s drunk and his eyes are a bit hazy, but he’s staring rather intently at the locks between his fingers. “S’very pretty.”  

 Francis, who is so typically quick on his feet in matters like this, freezes up, surprised by something so utterly nonsensical and yet somehow so maddeningly romantic coming out of Alfred’s mouth.

He stares at Alfred as if he’d grown a second head. “… _ _my hair?__ ” he asks, expression slightly bewildered. “Tastes like wh—?”

Alfred laughs a bit drunkenly and leans forward, kissing him on the mouth. The kiss isn’t anywhere near romance-novel perfect. It’s a bit too enthusiastic and a bit too wet. It’s not as romantic as Francis had imagined: no candles or fireworks. He gladly accepts it though, and they spend the rest of the night pressed together on Alfred’s carpet, kissing eagerly until Alfred falls asleep in his arms. Francis cradles him there for a while, exasperated and turned on. He merely kisses the top of his hair though, hugging him closer and following him into sleep.  

___

When the morning comes, Francis naturally has to pursue this new development. After breakfast, he pins Alfred against the counter, smile perhaps a little lecherous and a little excited.

Alfred blushes and smiles in an embarrassed way, giving him a confused innocent look. “What’s up Francis?”

Francis’s voice is husky as he asks, “What happened yesterday, dear Amérique?”

Laughing to hide his embarrassment, he shrugs and reaches up, sliding a hand through Francis’s hair before tucking it behind his ear.  He flushes and pulls his hand away. “I dunno Francis,” he responds earnestly. “But maybe we should do it again sometime.” He pecks him on the cheek and squirms away from him, saying it was time for his shower.

Grin turning lecherous as Alfred leaves the room, Francis reaches up to touch his hair. “So the boy is infatuated with my hair is he…?” It makes him blush, and he has a short moment of internal gushing over how adorable that is. This was an interesting piece of information to keep in mind.

 ___

The first few dates with Alfred are confusing and awkward.

The first go round, Francis brings flowers, and they make Alfred fidget awkwardly as he accepts them. He likes them, he says, but it feels so formal.

It doesn't help that Francis is dressed to the nines, looking like he stepped off the cover of a magazine.

“Damn, you’re looking pretty nice, Francis,” Alfred murmurs, cheeks red. “Makes me feel a little silly.” Although Alfred is wearing a blazer, he’s still in jeans. What’s more, he’s also wearing an S shield t-shirt and converse sneakers.

Francis laughs—he’d have thought that Alfred would have grown out of his town mouse ways by now. He finds it a tad endearing. Francis tucks a rose into Alfred’s jacket pocket—which sadly only embarrasses the American more.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mon Amérique. You look wonderful.”

He’s over dressed compared to Alfred and they look silly together. He takes him to a nice restaurant regardless. It’s too fancy for Alfred and he’s uncomfortable most of the time. He still jokes and rises to all of Francis’s teasing but it’s not nearly as fun as dinner at home was. When he says good bye to Alfred on his door step, it’s awkward, and they linger there for a moment. Alfred dithers and almost trips over his feet to get into his house. “Night, Francis…”

Francis stops him, but he also sees how awkward Alfred is. Instead of trying for a goodnight kiss on the doorstep, he takes his hand to kiss the American’s knuckles. “Sweet dreams…” he murmurs after, letting him go inside.

___

Francis realizes after a few dates that Alfred doesn’t like romantic baubles. The only exception to this rule is small individually packaged candies and chocolates. This becomes his ritual too: He always carries candy in his pockets. When they meet for their dates, Francis greets him by moving close and slipping a bon bon or a hard candy into his pocket as he kisses the American’s cheek.

As a little reward, Alfred always pecks his lips before getting too embarrassed and stepping away. It’s enough for Francis—he’s never the type to push further than he feels he’s allowed.

Francis continues to plan dates, inviting Alfred to the theatre, to the opera. Alfred enjoys it sometimes, and sometimes it bores him senseless. After the first date, Francis dresses down a bit, but it’s still far more fashionable than Alfred quite knows how to handle. Really though, Francis still has a reputation to uphold, and he does look incredibly nice.  

 After one particularly boring opera, Alfred kisses Francis and says, “I’m planning the next date. Wear jeans and a t-shirt though okay?”

Francis is just glad that Alfred is initiating a date, and he would’ve agreed to just about anything. 

“Say when, mon Amérique, and I’ll be here.”

“Okay. I’ll call you.” 


	2. An "American" Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred finally invites Francis out on a date, but his idea of a romantic time does not sit well with the Frenchman. 
> 
> And what the hell does mudding even mean anyways?

“Wear something unimportant cause you’re gonna get dirty. Hurry up and come over!”

Alfred’s call is sudden and short.  He sounds intensely excited and Francis scarcely has time to say “Oui, I’ll be there,” before Alfred hangs up.

When he shows up at Alfred’s door, the whole area is wet from the recent rain. Francis feels naked in the black t-shirt that he’d bought on the way there—no he feels worse than naked. At least he’s comfortable naked. In these ratty jeans and cheap t-shirt, he does not feel like his most magnificent self.

But when Alfred bursts out of the door, expression one of childish excitement, he suddenly doesn’t mind quite as much. The American looks positively delighted to see him. He’s dressed much the same as Francis, though his top is white and sleeveless. After sweeping France up into a bone crushing hug, he grins.

“Ready for this huh?” he asks, dragging Francis by the hand toward a beat up old four wheeler.

“Perhaps, dear Alfred, but what exactly are we doing?” Francis still climbs up behind him and smiles when the American pulls his arms around him.

“We’re gonna go muddin,” he replies, voice full of boyish happiness. “So hold onto me tight okay?”

 “Alfred, why exactly are you using the word mud as a  ** ** _ _verb??__**** ” Francis asks with his nose scrunched up in distaste.

To his distress, Alfred just laughs and throws back over his shoulder. “Cause it’s what we’re doing!” He starts the ATV and pulls out.

Though almost dreading what exactly they were setting out to do, Francis does like having an excuse to mold their bodies together. He rubs Alfred’s chest perhaps a little too, but he has been very patient. If Alfred notices that he’s feeling up his muscles, he doesn’t say anything about it so Francis continues his fun.

That is until the dirt starts hitting him. As soon as Alfred makes it to the trail into the woods, the way becomes wet, tires already throwing up mud and water. Francis frowns and calls out to him, “I’m getting mud in my hair!”

This was a date, right? Francis had a very strict policy of always looking his best on dates.

Alfred’s response is, “Awww man already? This’ll be good!“ 

Even more distressed now, he tightens his hold on Alfred. They come out into a muddy clearing, a shallow creek nearby. Alfred shouts for him to hold on tighter.

Francis scrambles to do so, gripping at him tightly as Alfred speeds toward the biggest puddle in the area. He can hear the American’s laughter as mud splatters on their legs and arms. On the one hand, Francis enjoys the speed, the laughter, the gleeful way Alfred races toward the puddles.

On the other hand, the mud that is splattering his face and hair does not please him.

Suddenly Alfred is doing donuts and whooping with laughter. As always the joy of the American is contagious, and Francis starts to forget about his distress at being covered in filth, clinging to him and laughing.

Alfred continues in this way for a while, driving them through the best of the puddles, slinging mud everywhere as he does donuts in the wetter areas. Only when they’re both utterly filthy and Alfred is breathless from his laughter does he stop.

He turns in his seat a little after he cuts the engine off. “S’pretty fun isn’t it?” he asks with his blue eyes bright. He’s panting for breath and covered in mud, but Francis finds the expression an attractive one.

He smiles wryly at him. “More fun than I’d thought it’d be at least.”

Alfred tilts his head, trying to sort out if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He shrugs, and his expression turns into one of mischief. Knowing that this spells trouble for him, Francis tries to move back on the seat to get out of his arms length, but it’s too late. Strong hands are on him, and he flails as he’s shoved off into the mud. He lands ungracefully, arms and chest covered now.

Alfred sits on the ATV and points at him as he laughs. Francis gapes at him a moment before grabbing his wrists and jerking him down into the mud with him. He gives a triumphant laugh when the American lands face first. Ultimately it doesn’t help Francis feel better, however, because Alfred isn’t very upset about it. When he sits up, his whole face is covered in mud and his glasses are sliding off of his nose. He takes them off and tucks them safely away. 

“You look nice covered in mud, Frenchie,” he teases, rubbing at the mud on his face.

Francis is not so thrilled with his jibe and he tries unsuccessfully to get to his feet. Frustrated and embarrassed, he wonders how in the world this was supposed to be considered a proper date. It wasn’t even romantic! “You’re so… so crass….!”

Then suddenly Alfred is right on top of him, his wet muddy hand cupping his face. To Francis’s surprise Alfred has a look that could almost be called seductive. His breath catches at the American leans close and whispers:

“I don’t even know what that means Francis.”

Then Alfred kisses him. Down in the mud and water, kissing him like this was the most romantic date spots ever. Francis allows it at first—any reason to kiss was a good reason for Francis—but as soon as he parts his lips with his tongue, he jerks away from the insistent warm mouth.

“Mon Amérique,” Francis gasps, face contorted in displeasure. “You taste like mud. You can’t kiss me when you taste like dirt!”

Even when he’s covered in mud, Alfred’s smile is like sunshine. “I’ve finally found a time when the pervy Frenchman doesn’t want to kiss!” His expression is mischievous indeed. “Better take advantage!”

Alfred is leaning forward again to kiss him, and Francis is shoving at his chest, frowning at him. “I know your taste buds are dead, but mine are fully functional—hyper sensitive in fact—and you won’t be kissing me when you have dirt in your teeth.”

Not the least bit swayed, Alfred keeps trying to steal kisses from him. The teasing turns into the two of the rolling through the mud, laughing and fighting. Alfred’s not really successful in much more than leaving muddy lip prints on Francis’s cheeks and neck, and finally it’s romantic enough that even despite the mud that the Frenchman enjoys it.

Until Alfred shoves mud down his pants, and then it’s war again.

_____

  When Francis shows up at Seychelles house, she’s not really surprised. Horrified at his timing but not surprised.

Francis stands in her kitchen, bemoaning how cruel she is. “You’re here debauching my lovely little sister while I’m having my poor heart broken. Really, how cruel can you be, Seychelles??”

Monaco comes in the room at this point, doing up the last few buttons on her top. “I am quite certain, Francis,” she says matter-of-factly, “that it was I debauching her upon your arrival.” For such a stately woman, she didn’t embarrass nearly as easily as people expected. Perhaps it was being raised around Francis that did it.  

Francis doesn’t react well to this, though, coming to Monaco and tugging her into his arms. “You’re both supposed to be innocent still,” he wails melodramatically. He’s not really upset. He’s actually happy to see that neither of them has been lonely without him to brighten their days. What he’s actually upset about is…. “Why didn’t either of you tell me?”

Seychelles rolls her eyes as Monaco neatly extracts herself from Francis’s arms to make them all tea.

“You teased me enough just for liking her Francis,” Seychelles offers, cheeks hot. “I figured it could only go downhill from there.”

Francis huffs and gives them both a pout. “Still, you should have told me, ma chérie. I would have been very supportive of my two favorite ladies having  _ _un amour secret__.”

Shaking her head, Monaco just pecks his cheek and hands him a cup of tea. “I have my reservations that it will remain a clandestine romance now that you are aware of it.” She passes a cup to Seychelles and sits next to her to sip at her own primly.

Seychelles distracts him. “So what exactly is going on with America that has you here so upset?”

The distraction works, and Francis is almost immediately counting out his list of woes.

He goes on for a few minutes, both of the women indulging him with their full attention.

“… and he thinks moonlight has a taste! And it tastes like my hair!” He sighs dramatically and rubs his face. “Mon dieu I’m in love with a man that thinks making out in the mud is romantic!”

Seychelles flushes and interjects with a guilty expression. “Making out in the mud can be romantic. Or sand or something, you know. I-it can be!”

Francis doesn’t seem to catch the implication of her saying this, too wrapped up in his own self centered rambling. “Not when he’s shoving mud down your pants, it most certainly is not.” He’s still huffy that Alfred had ruined a perfectly good pair of silk under things. It was a date after all, and Francis always wore the sexiest undergarments on dates, just in case. Well, if he wore underwear at all, they were always exquisite. 

To his horror, both of the women find it hysterical. Seychelles shrieks in laughter and slaps the table while Monaco hides behind her hand to giggle at him. Francis is not amused.

“This is not a laughing matter you two! What am I going to do about this?”

When Monaco finally pulls her hand away from her lips, she says, “The answer is quite clear, brother. You merely must find something that you both mutually find romantic.”

“Or maybe you should learn to like the taste of mud,” Seychelles chimes in. “That would solve it.”

The ladies laugh at him again, and he has had quite enough of the teasing. He goes slack in his chair, and strikes a pose of a man defeated. “No one takes me seriously. As expected, I’m the only person to be trusted in matters of the heart.”

______

Thankfully, the next few dates are ‘normal’ by Francis standards. Dinners and movies. Theme parks and zoos. They both equally enjoy amusement parks. The ‘normalcy’ smoothes out all of Francis’s ruffled feathers, and he returns to his road map of the romantic. It was time, he decides, for the great love confession.

He takes Alfred to an aquarium. It’s a fun date, an easy one. Alfred likes talking to the colorful fish, and Francis likes to tease him for it. They hold hands as the go along, the contact normal and easy. Afterwards, Francis suggests ice cream.

The Frenchman has learned that he gets more kisses on days he takes the other out for ice cream. Alfred likes the way that ice cream kisses taste, and Francis is thrilled to indulge him. When he takes him home, Alfred invites him in for coffee. Coffee has become Alfred’s special code for “Come kiss in me in my kitchen while I pretend to make us coffee.” That’s another quirk that he’s learned about Alfred on their dates: he seems to find the smell of coffee romantic.

This time, however, Francis catches the American before he even has time to plug in the coffee machine. He pins him to the counter and kisses him, and Alfred responds with the same fervent passion that he always does. 

When Francis breaks from his lips, they are both red and breathless. They are also both smiling. Francis knows that the timing is perfect. He reaches up, gently pulling the glasses from Alfred’s face as he murmurs, “Mon Amérique, you have captured my heart. Je t’aime.”

Alfred gives him the cutest expression of embarrassment and curiosity, flushing and bringing a hand up to run through Francis’s hair. “Je t’aime?” he repeats, voice soft and a bit uncertain.

“I love you,” Francis clarifies, giving him a dashing sort of smile.

Alfred opens his mouth to speak but the confession that Francis expects to hear back doesn’t come. Instead he breathes out quietly, “Show me.”

Francis watches him a moment, watches the way Alfred nibbles at his kiss swollen lips in embarrassment. He leans down and kisses the man’s chest, just over his heart. Afterwards, he takes both of Alfred’s hands into his and kisses his knuckles.

“Then I will show you everything, mon amour.”

Alfred makes a small sound—a hum that Francis recognizes as huffiness. Oh, right. That was another quirk of Alfred’s. He didn’t like pet names. He said he didn’t have a reason, but sweet nothings and pet names weren’t his thing.

It was quite a shame, Francis thinks as he leads Alfred up the stairs toward his bedroom. He did ever so much love sweet nothings.

Alfred’s bedroom is cluttered but large. His sheets are emblazoned with the Superman shield, and his ceiling is covered in glow in the dark stars. It’s not quite how Francis had pictured their first time together, but it’s still romantic in a strange way.

Francis tries to take his time, worshipping every inch of his lover with kisses, but Alfred is eager and impatient. Alfred is a wildfire, passions high and strong. He clutches at Francis and pleads for him with needy kisses and desperate sounds. Of course, Francis can’t deny his passion, especially when he’s waited so long for this himself. At this point, he can hardly deny the man anything.  

When they’re both sated and flushed, collapsing against each other from the exercise, Alfred looks up at him with his brilliant smile and laughs gently as he tries to catch his breath. He tangles his fingers in Francis’s hair. Francis always wears his hair down now because he knows how much the American loves to touch it.

“What’s so humorous, mon Amérique?” he asks, leaning into his hand.

“Nothin’,” Alfred murmurs, cheeks flushing darker red. “Just that, with the glow in the dark stars up there, all around your head like that, you kinda were like the moon; almost like there was a halo around your head.” He shrugs, smiling. Francis can’t tell how serious it is, but he likes the sentiment regardless. “Maybe it’s because your hair is so shiny.”

This had become their little joke, poking fun at Alfred’s drunken comment about his hair at the start of their relationship.

Francis gives him a bemused sort of smile and asks quietly, “Like the moon, am I? I suppose I should take this as a compliment from you?”

“S’compliment,” Alfred responds, his cheeks more than a little pink. As all of Francis’s attention is solely on Alfred, however, he sees the exact moment when mischief springs into those bright blue eyes.

 Alfred quietly adds, “Moon’s made of cheese right? Makes sense you’d remind me of the moon.”

Francis, appropriately appalled, pinches his love handles. Still he’s smiling a bit when he says, “You’re saying I’m made of cheese? How very rude!”

Alfred gives him a shit eating grin and nods. “Well you are French, after all.”

A minor scuffle ensues with Francis scolding him a mix of French and English. Alfred is laughing and stealing kisses from angry lips as they roll together on the bed. At some point Francis realizes that all the playful fights and wrestling matches that Alfred enjoys starting with him are just excuses to touch him. He fights back just as playfully as the other and enjoys the way Alfred’s fingers linger here and there.

 When they become too breathless to keep up the play, Alfred gets his arms around Francis’s waist and falls asleep with his head cradled against his chest.

The moment is an enchanted one, and he strokes Alfred’s hair and watches him sleep. Even the silly teasing had been suitably romantic enough for Francis but…

…. but Alfred never once returned Francis’s confession, never once voiced his feelings, and this has certainly not escaped France’s attention.


	3. Romance in the Stars

Francis has an epiphany while he’s lying in the dark with Alfred curled tight around him. 

The planetarium. That’s where he’ll win the American’s heart.

It’s so simple. He isn’t sure why he hasn’t thought of it before. The tacky glow in the dark stars on the ceiling are his inspiration. He notices that they have been painstakingly arranged into constellations. They aren’t perfect and not nearly in the right place in relation to each other, all the constellations squished together the way that they were. Still, it was very clear that Alfred had spent a lot of time getting it just right.

Yes, the planetarium might be just the place for them.

Francis laughs softly when he feels gentle lips and teeth on his skin, distracting him from his thoughts. He thinks, at first, that Alfred has woken up frisky, but he realizes when he looks down that the American was lightly nibbling on him in his sleep.

“Must you always be moving your mouth?” Francis chides him, making a face at the sleeping man. He gently moves Alfred’s head a bit to get him to stop and leans down to lightly peck his lips.

Francis watches him sleep for a while longer, loving the intimacy of it. Alfred clings in his sleep like a child who’s afraid of waking up alone, but Francis is a willing prisoner.  After adjusting to get comfortable, Francis falls asleep there in his arms.

_____

Though calm the night before, Francis becomes depressed the next day after he leaves Alfred’s home. He ends up on Seychelles’ doorstep that evening, a little drunk and a little tearful.

Mostly though he’s just frustrated. He sits in Seychelles’ kitchen, drinking and rambling softly about how much he wants to hear Alfred say romantic things. He’s sniffling and looking up at her pleadingly as he tells her how his confession was received.

“Maybe you should call and ask about me?” he suggests, pouting. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, Francis?” Seychelles responds, sighing and leaning on her hand. “Alfred’s pretty…. Well he’s Alfred. Maybe you just need to spell it out.”

He shakes his head. “There is no romance in that sort of blunt approach. I want…. I want fireworks and passion and gentle words of love whispered in my ear.”

She can’t help but look skeptical. “…… From Alfred?”

After a curt not, he responds simply, “Yes, from Alfred.” His head falls to the side, looking up at her with big weepy eyes. “Call him for me. Find out what he thinks.” He makes a sound of displeasure, swaying a bit drunkenly. “Please for me, ma chérie.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Fine, I’ll call him. But you have to keep your mouth shut.”

Finding her phone, she sits down and dials his number. Francis chimes in quickly, “Speaker phone!”

She rolls her eyes again but complies, arranging what she’s going to say in her head. When Alfred picks up the phone, his voice is all sunshine. “Howdy?”

Francis smiles at the sound of his voice.

“Alfred? It’s Seychelles…”

There’s an awkward pause, and Seychelles smiles, realizing what’s wrong. “Come on, Alfred. I’m the one that hangs around France. The one with the pigtails remember?”

“Oh you’re that cute lil island girl. I know you. What’s up?”

Giggling softly, she nods a bit, saying, “Yes the cute lil island girl. I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have time?”

“Yeah, no problem. I have plenty of time.”

Francis sits up a bit straighter in his seat, not nearly as drunk as he let on before. To be honest, Seychelles figured that might be the case. Well then, she could play that game too.

“I…heard that you and Francis are dating now. Is that true?”

There was a pause, and she hears Alfred take a breath. “Well…” he says slowly. “I mean he takes me on dates and stuff but I’m not sure we’re together. I mean, he never said we are…” His voice is uncertain and embarrassed. Francis makes a face, clearly wanting to talk, but she gives him a stern look.

“I guess I was just worried about you, Al. Francis has a reputation as a playboy. I mean, you know that. You’re going on dates with him anyways though.”

Francis looks appalled at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. If he was going to pressure her to get involved, she was going to do it her own way.

“Yeah well…” Alfred trails off for a moment and starts again. “I know his reputation. But uh, I dunno. It’s fine even if it’s just like… a fling for him. He…. Well he said some mushy stuff. I dunno if he meant it…” His voice here is incredibly embarrassed. “But, um, you know him better than I do. If he wanted, ya know, something ‘official’ with me…. wouldn’t he ask or something?”

Seychelles is almost happy that she got to do this as she watches all the emotions and protests flicker across Francis’s face. He doesn’t voice them because he knows he’ll blow his cover. After a moment of quiet just long enough to make Francis terrified of what she’s going to say, Seychelles finally continues.

“Is that what you want Alfred? Something that’s official with him? If that’s the case, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Another long pause. When he responds again, his voice is petulant, whiny, and immature in that particular way that Alfred could be sometimes. “You said it yourself Seychelles. He’s a playboy. If I ask for something like that and he isn’t really serious I’ll feel really stupid. People already think I’m dumb and naïve.” She can hear his conflict in his voice and it makes her frown at Francis, displeased. “…. Can I tell you a secret though?”

Seychelles feels a wave of guilt at what she’s doing and instantly turns the speaker phone off. Stupid Francis, asking her to do under handed things. She hastily exits the room to give him the privacy he wants. Francis tries to grab at her, even more curious now. She shuts the door on him though, flicking the lock as she goes to sit on the other side of the room.

Knowing that Francis would try to listen in, she says softly, “Yes. You can tell me a secret Alfred.”

Once again she can hear the embarrassment in his voice when he speaks. “In my head I already call him my stupid French boyfriend. Even if he, you know, hasn’t actually asked me out yet.” He gives a nervous laugh. “Is that silly, d’ya think?”

Shaking her head, she says, “No I don’t think that’s silly at all…. But Alfred why—”

“Don’t ask why. I…” He takes a breath and she can tell he’s smiling. “I want to. I know that Francis may just want a quick fling for a while and that’s fine. I like the attention, and he makes me really awesome food ‘n puts candies in my pockets ‘n stuff.” 

She can hear how earnest he is, and it makes her nibble her lip a little, actually worried about the two of them now. “But what if—”

Alfred cuts her off again. “No buts. Don’t worry about me. I’m not dumb. I know that he may just want a quick fling. I’m okay with that.”

For a few moments there is a tense silence. Alfred finally breaks it, voice small and tone uncertain. “Do you think he wants to  _date_ date me for real, Sey?”

She almost wants to laugh at how juvenile and childish that sounds, but instead she just frowns.  She softly responds, “Yes, I think he does want that Alfred.”

His sigh of relief makes her feel guilty. When she finally hangs up and exits back to the kitchen, Francis is on top of her practically, pleading for what he had said. She shakes her head, and the only thing she is willing to say about the whole matter now is, “If you hurt Al’s feelings, you’re not allowed to come crying to me when it’s over.”

____

Although he won’t admit it, Alfred’s words upset Francis. He knows that his reputation precedes him, but it still frustrates him that Alfred couldn’t see how very serious he is about this. For as much of a pervert as he can be, he is a famous lover. Why doesn’t anyone understand that?

He doesn't call Alfred immediately after this, and he tries to calm himself down. The American doesn't call him either, which makes him angry as well, putting off the call for even longer. 

When he finally does call the American to invite him for a date, Alfred sounds hesitant, and it makes Francis even angrier.

“Do you really wanna…?” Alfred asks, voice strangely hopeful and nervous.

“Why clearly, mon Amérique. I wouldn’t invite you if I didn’t want it.” Francis’s voice is a bit defensive, sharp. Every time before when he’d invited Alfred out, the man had consented eagerly and happily. Why was now different…?

“Well, if you’re sure, then okay,” is the response from the other line. “I’ll see you then okay? I’m gonna go finish my workout.” After a short goodbye, Alfred hangs up, leaving Francis angry and confused.

It hits him when the line goes dead, and he starts cursing, uncharacteristically vulgar.

“Well of course he thinks it’s a fling now,” he says, throwing his phone down on the couch. “Sleep with him for the first time then forget to call him for a week and a half.” He buries his face in his hands and wants to call Alfred back, to try and explain himself.

Knowing it won’t help his case much, he consoles himself with the fact that it’s Alfred. He’ll probably have forgiven him by the time they go out. He busies himself making the next date  _ _perfect.__

___________ _

His intuition proves him right. When he sees Alfred again, the man is all smiles, giving him a kiss when Francis slides a chocolate into his pocket. Alfred takes Francis’s hand happily enough.

“Where we goin’ today Frenchie?”

Francis purses his lips at the nickname and squeezes his hand. “If I tell you now Alfred, I would ruin the surprise. Let’s go.”

Accepting this, Alfred climbs into the car, and he manages to go the whole way without asking too many times what they were doing and where they were going. His favorite thing to say is actually, “ _ _I hope they have good food there.”__

Francis chides him playfully for thinking only with his stomach and promises to make him something delicious afterwards.

The promise is completely forgotten about when they arrive. 

“We’re going to the planetarium?” Alfred says, excited, as they pull into the parking lot. He’s practically bouncing in his seat. “God I love this place, Francis. Is there a show? Oh man, have you been here before? This place is amazing. Really it is.” He’s out of the car before it’s even completely stopped.

He bounces on his heels as he waits for Francis to get out of the vehicle. The other is taking his time to get the car parked well. “I haven’t been to this particular planetarium, Alfred, but I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

When he finally gets out of the car, Francis finds himself with an American in his arms, kissing his lips in an off centered, excited way. The embrace is short and fierce, and Alfred is already dragging him toward the door. Francis speeds up, letting himself be lead and laughing at Alfred’s boyish excitement.

They find their seats, and Alfred clings to his hand, face lit up with excitement. Francis basks in that expression, a date well picked to soothe any lingering hard feelings. When the show starts, Alfred is riveted, and even though he knows all the stories and facts by heart, he listens raptly. He leans in and whispers against Francis’s hair, giving his opinions, adding little facts, telling him which ones look the best with a small telescope. Once he even admits sheepishly that he has dreams sometimes about living in a distant galaxy.

Francis shivers at the breath on his ear and holds Alfred’s hand the whole time. Of course, he knows quite a bit about astronomy himself, and he finds the whole program interesting though he’s nowhere near as enthusiastic.

About halfway through, Alfred catches him off guard, stealing a slow and sweet kiss in the darkness. He murmurs a soft “Thank you,” before chuckling and adding, “How do you say it in French? Mercy?”

When it’s over, Alfred insists that Francis spends the night with him. After they get back to his house, Alfred instructs Francis to make them both a picnic basket while he gets some things in order.

Alfred grabs some things from his room and then he’s gone, leaving Francis alone to cook in his kitchen.

________

When Alfred comes back, Francis has their food done. He’s very promptly dragged onto that damned ATV again. After the food is properly secure, they’re driving away into the night. Francis asks him once where they’re headed– hoping that it isn’t into the mud again– but Alfred refuses to tell him.

When they come out of the trees, they’re at the top of a hill, and the scene that Alfred has set up for them takes Francis’s breath away.

He has laid out a blanket with a rather nice telescope set up. There’s another blanket and some pillows there as well, along with a small lantern. After he cuts off the ATV, he turns to help Francis unhook their basket of food.

Before he can get far, Francis stops him and tilts his head, laughing. “Alfred this is actually…. really romantic….” He sounds surprised, but he’s smiling as he studies Alfred’s face.

The American turns scarlet, fidgeting under the scrutiny. “Romantic?” he repeats, embarrassed. “I dunno. It’s just something I, uh, like to do. And after the planetarium… I dunno. I thought maybe you’d like it too.” He unhitches the food quickly, trying to retreat, but Francis catches him for a gentle kiss.

After a short moment, Alfred finally steps back and flashes an expression so adoring that it makes Francis’s breath catch. He moves to the blanket to set out the food, humming in appreciation at the smell of it.

Francis joins him, turning on the lantern at least while they eat. They pull the extra blanket out, and they sit close to share it, keeping each other warm. With a teasing smile, Francis feeds him from his fingers, and Alfred blushes as he accepts it. In response, the American takes the caramel that Francis packed for the apple slices, and he smears it over Francis’s lips.

“Are you going to clean up your mess?” Francis asks, smiling. He knew how much of a food kink the American had– a discovery that had not really surprised him.

There’s a moment of just blushing and smiling before Alfred leans forward and kisses him in a single minded way that makes Francis wonder if he really just wanted the caramel after all. Eventually, Francis pulls out the wine, and they drink while Alfred points the telescope to different things around the sky. He is delighted to share this with him.

Francis gives him a teasing smile and arches a brow at Alfred. “I’m surprised that you enjoy this. Nothing else would make you sit still this long.” He gives a long-suffering sigh and a melodramatic expression. “Not even for my excellent company.”

“Oh, stuff it Francis, and come look at this.”

As Francis is obediently taking a look, Alfred blurts suddenly, “Can we totally bang under the stars for real this time? Like, is that allowed?”

Francis makes a choked sound and jerks back to stare at him. He gives a sputtering laugh. “That was the least romantic invitation for sex I’ve ever heard.”

Instantly, Alfred turns red and puts his hands up. “Well! I mean! We don’t have to…!” He looks incredibly embarrassed, starting to pack his things up. “Sorry I asked!”

With a smile, Francis catches his wrists. “No, it’s alright. Is that what you want? Under the stars? That’s rather romantic dream for you Alfred.”

This only embarrasses the American more, but Francis is already leaning in to kiss him. Alfred responds eagerly, shoving close to him instantly. It’s a cool night, so they fall together under the blankets as they lose their clothing.

Afterwards, they stay close under the blanket, sharing their warmth.

“Am I still like the moon? Now that we've done it out here like this, I mean.”

Alfred blushes and laughs, nuzzling his face into Francis’s hair. “Maybe even better than the moon yeah?” he murmurs as he locks strong arms around him and tangles their legs together.

 It was becoming very clear to Francis that Alfred liked to snuggle.

“What a compliment,” he murmurs, stroking Alfred’s hair. “Don’t fall asleep though. It’s too cold to spend the night out here.”

“Mhm, no sleeping,” Alfred murmurs as he starts to doze against his chest.

Francis rolls his eyes and watches him, staying awake so he can take the silly American home after a while.

There are a few short quiet moments, but the silence is broken by Alfred’s soft, groggy voice. “Does this make us official boyfriends yet, Francis?”

At the question, Francis laughs gently. That was the most juvenile why to put it. ‘Official Boyfriends.’ Like children in middle school. In response, he kisses Alfred’s hair and murmurs back, “Yes, Alfred, this makes us lovers. Officially.”

Whatever that meant. Francis had considered them 'official’ for a very long time, but if this silly exchange made Alfred aware of it too, then he didn’t mind too much. It still wasn’t quite the confession that Francis was waiting for, but for now, it would do.


	4. Expectations and Heartbreaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is trying very hard to be patient, but it’s been one month too many for him…

Francis likes to dote.  
   
Perhaps that is one of his favorite parts of romancing someone. He loves finding just that right thing for someone and seeing their face light up with delight. For him, that expression is a sign of success.  
   
He’s realized now that Alfred has a tendency to make him feel very successful. At first he was bad at pleasing Alfred—the man dislikes romantic trinkets. They make him awkward.  
   
It didn’t take long to figure out what sort of little surprises that he did like though. His first major success was completely unplanned.  
   
 _At a rest stop on the way to Alfred’s home, Francis found a box of Superman chewy fruit flavored candy. At the time, he laughed at how silly it is, but on a whim he took it to the counter with him. He completely intended to tease Alfred about it: to pester him about what fruit precisely Superman would actually taste like. The reception that he got, therefore, surprised him._  
  
 _When he pulled the box of candies out with a smirk, Alfred immediately lit up, making that sound of boyish delight that Francis heard quite often these days._  
  
 _“Issit for me?” Alfred asked, already taking it from his hands. “S-shield candy!! I bet nothing tastes better than this. I bet it tastes like freedom and justice!” His expression was radiant, ecstatic, and Francis watched him with startled happiness._  
  
 _“Do you think I picked up candies loaded with sugar and artificial ingredients for myself?”_  
  
 _Francis’s voice was sarcastic, but the expression on Alfred’s face gave away just what he was thinking: ‘yes definitely everyone would buy this for themselves.’ He even started to pass the candies back to him with a slightly disappointed expression._  
  
 _Shaking his head quickly and laughing, Francis said, “No, no, no, mon Amérique. Indeed they are for you. I’m not so certain they taste like freedom or justice, but you’re free to eat them.”_  
  
 _So Alfred ate them all, and Francis had gotten laid for his troubles that time which had amused him greatly_  
   
Since then, Francis has been doting in a way that is much more rewarding for the both of them. One day it’s a keychain shaped like Captain America’s shield. Another day it’s a little UFO toy that launches into the air when you press a button. Another day it’s Toy Story stickers. Francis is amused by it—how unromantic the whole thing is, how childish—but Alfred adores it. When he sees the little trinkets that Francis brings for him, he becomes excited and affectionate.  
   
They’re so small and so silly, but Francis loves it just as much as the American even if he finds Alfred all the more strange for it.     
   
Thankfully, Alfred is not a doter. Francis is a little afraid of what Alfred would come up with for a good present for a lover. His romantic tendencies run a bit differently.  
   
Alfred worships.  
   
He isn’t aware of it, of course—if he was he would probably become too embarrassed and stop. Francis, however, is very much aware of it. It’s in the way that Alfred likes to sit at his feet and lean his head against his legs. It’s in the way that Alfred insists on washing and brushing Francis’ hair every chance he gets. It’s in all the little things that Alfred leaps up to do for him, eager in his own way to make Francis smile.  
   
Today Alfred is massaging Francis’s feet—despite the fact he didn’t have much finesse, he still gave pretty good massages. The Frenchman has a book cracked open, humming gently as he reads. Alfred has already finished his graphic novel, abandoning it in favor of foot massages. Unfortunately, the American is falling asleep, head drooping back against the couch.  
   
After Alfred’s fingers slip free completely from his feet, Francis realizes that he’s finally out cold. He shakes his head and sits up, moving enough to stretch Alfred out along the couch. He nestles the other man’s head on his lap, carefully pulling his glasses off. Stroking his hair gently, he admires his lover’s ridiculous sleeping face.  
   
“Why won’t you just say it?” he murmurs gently to him, frowning. “Love is not so hard to say. I just want… to hear it just once.”  
   
That wasn’t true. If Alfred said it once, he’d want to hear it again. And again and again.  
   
As it was though, he hadn’t even heard it once. The last few months had been blissful. Why was it just this one thing that Alfred insists upon keeping from him?  
   
“Just say it…” he murmurs again. “Just say it. Say it.”  
   
Alfred stirs and looks up at him with those baby blues, clearly not really awake. “…say whut…?” he mumbles up at him as he nestles his face against Francis’s thigh.  
   
“I said, Sey called,” he lies smoothly, thumb sliding along his eyebrow. “I need to go to her place okay?”  
   
At this, Alfred gives him the most adorable drowsy puppy look. “Mmm but I thought you were stayin’ the night… or several nights even….” He turns his head to kiss Francis’s fingers.  
   
“Oh, mon Amérique, you know I would love to, but you’re a hero, non? You understand that duty calls. I must go help the little maiden.”  
  
Alfred’s hand comes up, trailing through Francis’s hair. “Oh alright…” he relents. He watches him for a moment before demanding. “Kiss me.”  
   
It was interesting really. Sometimes a peck on the cheek makes the American blush but sometimes he’s the one pinning Francis to walls and literally demanding wicked things. Kisses—he makes demands for those a lot.  
   
Happy to oblige, Francis shifts them, helping the other sit up so that they could kiss there on the couch. The kiss is slow and sweet, Alfred slowly becoming more insistent and passionate. When Francis finally breaks free from those eager lips, the other is red and panting.  
   
“Sure you can’t stay?” Alfred asks, and his expression is almost heartbreakingly pleading.  
   
Francis swallows thickly. “Yeah. I really need to help her out right now. I’ll come again soon for spending the night okay?” He pecks his lips again before pulling free and leaving.  
   
_____  
   
“I think I’m going to break up with Alfred.”  
   
This is the first thing out of his mouth when he finally finds Seychelles on Monaco’s couch. She is curled up while Monaco calmly braids flowers into her hair. It would have been a very welcome sweet sight if he wasn’t so upset.  
   
Seychelles freezes and gives him a disappointed stare. “I told you Francis. I don’t want any part of you breaking that poor kid’s heart. He adores you. You adore him. What has you flippin’ out this time?”  
   
There is a long moment of silence, the two women watching him.  
   
Finally he says, “He still hasn’t said he loves me.”  
   
Seychelles groans, and Monaco moves a hand to her own mouth to hide her expression.  
   
“Really Francis? I thought you’d gotten over this already! He adores you. He doesn’t really have to say that for you to understand it right? Why can’t you just be happy??” Seychelles’ voice is a bit accusatory.  
   
His words are coming fast now, agitated. “Well you remember. All those months ago when he said if this was just a fling that would be okay with him. It’s Alfred, Sey. It’s Alfred. The man is blunt and air headed to a fault. He told me once on the spur of the moment that he liked the way my cock tasted—” Here both ladies’ expressions scrunch up at the over sharing.  “—and got so embarrassed that he said it that he couldn’t look me in the eyes for a week. If he loved me, he’d be blunt enough to say it.”  
   
Completely disregarding information about Francis’s private regions, Seychelles responds simply with, “Let me remind you that at the beginning you told me you were aiming for a simple fling until you really got to know him better.”  
   
Francis sighs and rubs his face. “At the beginning! I’m…I can’t be happy with that now. I love romance, and I love romancing Alfred, but I am not self destructive. If I keep getting more involved and he stays… in this place with no emotional commitment that he’s willing to voice then….” Then, Francis looks tired and dejected, flopping down on a nearby armchair. “It’s not really about him saying it. It’s about knowing it for sure. I want to know that he feels it.”  
   
At his expression, Seychelles looks a bit more sympathetic. “Then ask him. That’s all you really have to do. Bluntly ask him, ‘Hey buddy, do you love me or what?’ That’s all you have to do Francis.”  
   
He looks frustrated. “That is not romance. That is not love. Love should be…” He waves a hand. “Spontaneous. Natural. Confessions should come from one’s own desire to say it, not someone asking for it.”  
   
Seychelles shakes her head just a bit and sighs. She has no response to him now. When she doesn’t answer, he crosses his arms and looks away as he goes into full sulking mode.  
   
The person that breaks the silence is Monaco, fingers still busy braiding flowers into the other girl’s long dark hair. Her voice is soft, and she doesn’t look at Francis while she speaks. Her cheeks are the faintest of pinks.  
   
“As you are better acquainted with me than most, brother, you will surely see how unusual it is for me to have entered into the relationship in which I am currently involved.” She leans forward here and gently pecks Sey’s cheek. “As a young girl, you will no doubt recall, I had a fascination for nobility, and you will likely remember my preoccupation with stories of princes and noble young men. I wanted to become a duchess, if you remember.”  
   
Here Seychelles turns to peck her cheek in return with a soft murmur of “You’re better than a duchess sweetie.”  
   
With a smile, Monaco continues, “After a lifetime about fantasizing about noble princes and sophisticated men, it is some wonder that I’m even sitting here with this adorable woman.” She turns her gaze to Francis for the first time. “Herein lies my point. I have always expected a prince on a white horse, but instead I have found a young brilliant island woman who is, quite frankly, more satisfying than most idealized fairytale princes.”  
  
Both women are blushing now, and Seychelles teases, “Only most?”  
   
Monaco smiles gently back. “Do not become jealous over fictional princes, my dear.  They are written, many of them, to be irresistible.”  
   
They’re smiling at each other, and they are both quiet a moment before they both move in for a gentle kiss on the lips.  
   
The romance, the affection, the sweetness of it… isolates Francis and he just gets more upset—seeing them share this casual easy sort of romance. He interrupts their moment.  
   
“Of course I remember,” he says with a huff. “What does this have to do with me though?”  
   
Monaco looks at him again, almost surprised that he even had to ask. “You have been expecting a certain ideal of romance from him—an ideal that has perhaps worked in the past for you. Alfred is still an individual, brother. You should resist the temptation to hold him to your romantic ideal.” Here she has to pause and hold up a hand to silence Francis’s protests. “He likely has his own concept of romance, and it may not be as spontaneous as yours. Do not labor under the assumption that his love for you is less because he doesn’t announce it as boldly as you’d like. Ask him directly. Even if you find the direct approach unappealing, perhaps you should try to understand that your approach to romance is neither better nor worse than his. It is merely different.”  
   
Francis stares at her for a moment. How like Monaco: so quiet most of the time but when she needs to say something she expresses herself at length and with some degree of elegance. The words make him angry though: As if he is the one being insensitive instead of Alfred!  
   
While he realizes that she’s probably right—he has very much tried his ‘tricks’ to coax romance out of him—he reacts angrily, face heating up with something that felt dangerously like shame. He knows, however, that Monaco won’t push in a fight against him. It was always this way—if he didn’t agree, she’d quietly accept that and refrain from approaching the topic. He uses this to his advantage now.  
   
“That is ridiculous, Monaco. I have respected his strange approach to romance, and this is where it has gotten me.” His words are a bit too loud, a bit to upset. They don’t quite feel honest.  
   
She gives him a polite smile. “Then you were right at the start,” Monaco says, as he knew she would. “As you said, your romance is quite doomed, and I have no further advice to offer.”  
   
Her expression is quite mild to be saying something so upsetting to him, and Francis immediately feels worse. Seychelles, a lot less self controlled than her girlfriend, is giving him an exasperated look of quiet anger. She realizes, he bets, that he only said that to silence Monaco.  
   
“Look Francis,” Seychelles finally says. “We’re gonna go out for dinner now. Maybe you should go home.”  
   
They both rise and start to leave the room. Monaco stops and turns to give him a little courtesy. “Do please lock the door on your way out, if you would please.”   
  
Francis sits on her couch for a several long moments, staring dejectedly at the door and already wanting them to come back. “I take it that means I’m kicked out?” he asks softly after they’re gone. He sighs and rubs his face, disgruntled. “C’est le monde à l’envers!”  
   
At first, he has every intention of leaving but instead ends up pacing the room a few times, having come to these two seeking a sympathetic ear instead of a scolding. Instead of leaving, he decides to sulk in one of Monaco’s sitting rooms after snatching a few bottles of alcohol from her kitchen.  
   
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he tells the empty house. He’s already well on the way to being drunk. “I’m not the villain here. I’m not.”  
   
Of course, his conscience is quick to remind him that even if he isn’t the villain here neither is Alfred.  
   
“But if he doesn’t love me… losing me won’t hurt him… right?”  
   
The idea makes him worse rather than better.  


	5. In Your Eyes

_“love, I don’t like to see so much pain so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away.”_

For a few days, Francis avoids Alfred, trying to figure out what to do. As expected, he really doesn’t want to give up on the man, but at the same time, asking for a confession? That just feels so wrong to him. He isn’t quite sure what to do, but his lovely ladies were right. Giving up on him without even being sure… that would be absurd and hurtful to the both of them.

But how was he supposed to ask? He’d never had this problem before. Not even during his brief affair with England all those decades ago. The first time England got drunk around him, he was confessing every deep feeling he had ever felt.

He has to decide soon though. He is terribly lonely without Alfred around being his ridiculous self. As he is debating how to ask— “Do you love… no…” “Alfred why won’t you..” “Alfred why haven’t you…” “Goddammit Alfred say you love me!”—he suddenly hears something from outside of his house. …. Music?

At first, he starts to ignore it. It’s probably a local human teen making a ruckus. Soon it gets louder, and he can make out words to the song playing.

_“I drive off in my car, but whichever way I go. I come back to the place you are.”_

Curious now, he rises and goes to the balcony of his room. He steps out and blinks in surprise.

There was Alfred in his drive way, a gorgeous red sports car behind him. He’s wearing a large brown trench coat of some sort over jeans and a t-shirt. There’s a boom box hoisted high above his head. Francis can do nothing but stare at first, perhaps slightly confused but smiling.

The music keeps going.

“ _All my instincts, they return; and the grand facade, so soon will burn; without a noise, without my pride; I reach out from the inside.”_

Finally he says, “What are you doing, Alfred?”

The American gives him a lopsided grin and shrugs. “I saw it in a movie once.”

“Was that actually what he was wearing in the movie or did you dress yourself?” he asks, eyes roaming over his outfit. His voice is languid and teasing, but his cheeks are red. He’s smiling. “High top sneakers. Very fashionable.”

Alfred gives him a fake exasperated look. “It’s pretty similar to what he’s wearing in the movie, yes.”  

“Still,” Francis insists. “You must admit you look a little silly—like a teenager who stumbled out of a thrift store.”

 “Well I do have a cooler car than he did in the movie.”

He had to admit the other was likely right—Alfred had good taste in cars at least. At his home in Boston, Alfred had a whole host of old vintage classic cars that he kept tucked away and in pristine condition. Currently he was standing in front of an Alfa Romeo Spider, a relatively old model if Francis was judging properly.

Arching his brow, Francis teases, “Is that so~?”

There’s a moment where Alfred just gives him a childishly angry look.

“ _ _I see the light and the heat in your eyes. Oh, I want to be that complete,__ ” Peter Gabriel croons from the boom box.

“Did you a least pick the song?” Francis asks.

Alfred grins. “Nope, it was in the movie too. It’s good though.”

Shaking his head, Francis gives him a smirk. “So you couldn’t pick your clothes or your own romantic music huh?”

“Stop whinin’ and get your ass down here so I can kiss you on the hood of my car,” he responds.

“Was that in the movie too or…?“

“Naw, now I’m making it up as I go. Hurry!”

Francis finally heads downstairs, taking his time. It was punishment for Alfred being so demanding. His heart was racing though, and he was quite wrapped around what the other was doing. This, this wasn’t the kind of romance with which France was accustomed, but he had to admit that it had that particular touch that was so uniquely Alfred. The other man would probably call it “American style” romance.   

When he opens the door, Alfred has put the boom box down and is leaning against the car a little. He looks every bit the confident, arrogant American that he is, and Francis loves it. A few long strides are all it takes, and then he’s being pressed down against the hood of the car. That’s something thing that Francis likes: when Alfred is forceful with him. It is also something that he doesn’t admit. Partially because he’s afraid Alfred will be too embarrassed to do it again if his behavior is pointed out to him

And partly because he knows that Alfred will play rougher if Francis scolds him for it and calls him a brute instead.

So Francis very willingly lets Alfred control the kiss, liking the feel of the smooth solid hood beneath him. The music continues in the background, but Francis is much too distracted now to pay it any heed.  Francis locks his legs around Alfred’s waist to keep from straining his legs or falling off. He knows good and well that the American is perfectly capable of supporting his weight.

The song has already changed to something different by the time Alfred breaks from his mouth to pant for breath and trail little kisses down his jaw. The whole situation just makes Francis laugh.

“Is this another one of your hidden kinks, mon Amérique?” Francis asks with a laugh.

Alfred pulls back to blink down at him, actually considering the question. His glasses are askew on his face now, and Francis reaches up to fix them while Alfred responds. “…. Huh. Maybe it is… I dunno. I like fooling around with you on this car though.” Still, he flushes a bit and moves a hand to smooth over the surface. This makes him flush a bit darker, and he adds. “Though maybe we should go inside before things get too out of hand…”

Francis starts to protest, but Alfred interrupts. “We can do stuff on the car when it’s after dark I guess, when people won’t see. I brought the movie, uhhh the one with the boom box scene, if you wanna watch it with me. It’s all mushy and crap so I figured you’d like it.”

Giving him a look, Francis replies, “Yes, I just adore movies that are ‘mushy and crap.’ Let’s go see what this is all about then.”

He straightens and pulls Francis up with him, stealing another short kiss before grabbing the movie from the car. After he laces his fingers with Francis, he starts inside.

“How much did that car cost you?” Francis asks when the front door is closed.

“Oh a pretty penny. You don’t mind if I keep it at your place do you?” he asks, already heading to the DVD player. He plops down in front of it, taking the DVD from its case. “That’s okay right? I mean I’ve been coming by so much these days and borrowin’ and rentin’ cars all the time is lame.”

Francis considers this and sits down on the couch, eyes intent on the back of Alfred’s head as if it would make the information he wants jump out of him. After a cautious moment, he takes a deep breath and says, “So Alfred… this means you want this to be long term right?”

“Yeah!” he answers instantly, before he freezes with the DVD halfway to the player. He turns his head and looks at him, startled. “We’re already long term, I thought. I mean, that’s okay right? Should I have asked about the car first?” The look of slight panic on Alfred’s face confuses Francis—he’s never seen the American look this uncertain. At least not since his childhood days.

Immediately, Francis feels a twinge of guilt over the expression, moving to sit on the carpet in front of the DVD player with him. “Well, yes we’ve been together for good bit now right Alfred?” He brings his hand up to lightly stroke his cheek. It only makes the American slightly calmer.

“Mhm. S’been a while,” he agrees, watching him. “S’why I wanted to have a cool car here…”

Francis nods and strokes his cheek with his thumb. “It is a very cool car, but why are you dating me in the long term?”

The look that Alfred gives him is priceless, a wide eyed almost confused look. As if it should be obvious. “I want to,” he says simply. “A-and, uhm, it feels…. It feels good.” He shrugs and goes red to his ears, looking down.

After a moment, Francis sighs softly and smiles in an exasperated way. Of course Alfred couldn’t take the subtle hint to say what he wanted to hear. “What I mean, precisely, is…. Do you love me Alfred? Are you in love with me?” It was a simple question, but Francis had to pull his hands away from Alfred’s face, knowing they were shaking a little. He had never had to ask this question before, and perhaps his frustrations showed in his expression.

Instantly Alfred’s expression turns worried, and after he sets the DVD into the player, he’s taking Francis’s hands and kissing his cheeks. “Of course I do. Don’t look so sad. Of course I love you.”  Alfred moves then to give him one of his ferociously tight hugs. “Would I do all this stuff if I didn’t huh?”

Instead of calming his racing heartbeat, hearing the words finally makes his heart pound harder. Francis makes a soft happy sound as he hugs him back, clinging tightly. “I would think not. But it is still something that is very gratifying to hear.” He pulls back again to watch Alfred’s face and to run his hand through his hair. “Now tell me, mon Amérique, why haven’t you said it sooner if it’s so easy a question to answer?”

At this Alfred turns scarlet and starts to squirm. “It’s a stupid reason really. Silly. B-but uh, I’ll say it more from now on, if you like that kind of thing….”

Curious now by Alfred’s almost guilty, embarrassed reaction, Francis decides to press the issue. “Whatever reason could it be Alfred. Did you not love me until recently? Were you playing me?” He’s flamboyantly overdramatic about it and anyone else would have laughed at his theatrics.

However, Alfred is totally deceived by it and waves his hands in front of him, trying to calm the other. “No no no, that’s not it at all. I can tell you, uh, if you promise not to laugh at me….”

Francis arches a brow and doesn’t promise anything, though he asks him to continue.

“Well… I read this book and…”

Oh lord… “What book was it?” Francis asks immediately.

“Can’t tell you. It’s British and if Iggy hears about it, he’ll get all snotty and superior.” It was one of Alfred’s favorite chides—telling England that the only good English book was Harry Potter, and that was only good because they made awesome movies too.

(In fact, a good chunk of the books in Alfred’s house had been bought prior to a big movie release. “If I liked the movie,” he had explained once. “I’ll almost always like the book too. But when you start a book you never know if it’ll be fun or boring, so if I know it’s going to be cool…”)

“…. Was this book made into a movie by any chance? One that I might have seen?”

Alfred waves his hand dismissively. “Someone at Japan’s place made a really cool movie out of it so I read the book, and it was pretty cool too.” There’s a bit of silence before Alfred plows ahead, speaking a bit too fast. “And there’s this guy. He’s all cool and fashionable with this nice blonde hair. And he’s always wooing women. And…” Here he has to pause again to look down and away from Francis. “And when they tell him that they love him, he leaves them. Because he knows it’s not real love, or something. I dunno. But uhhh…”

Already, Francis is fighting the urge to get angry for being compared to someone that dumps people after love confessions, but he waits for Alfred to get his thoughts together. “… yes…?”

“…. And the one person that he ends up getting a happily ever after with is the one that never has to say she loves him for him to understand that she does…” He flushes deeper. “I didn’t want you to leave. I thought maybe if I could be like that… ya know… love you so much that you just know without havin’ to hear it… That you’d stick around longer. It seemed romantic or something….”

Francis was red now too, though mostly from how adorably innocent Alfred is. This uncertainty and lack of confidence isn’t something Francis often got to see in him, and he remembers suddenly how very  _ _young__ Alfred is compared to him.

Uncertain blue eyes look up at him, expecting laughter and looking decidedly worried. In response, Francis narrows his eyes and smirks at him.

“And this, mon Amérique,” he says as he kisses his cheek, “is why we don’t take love advice from the British.”

This makes Alfred laugh and tug gently on a lock of Francis’s hair. “I guess not huh?”

Francis smiles at him and kisses his mouth gently. “You know, you can be honest with me about things like that right? Tell me what you like in romance. Tell me what bothers you. It’s okay to do that.”

Arching a brow, he gives him a teasing smile. “And you can tell me yeah? Maybe one day you’ll finally be able to tell me why you don’t like muddin’ huh?”

Scoffing, Francis moves to sit on the couch again. “Oh well yes, maybe I will someday elaborate on why I don’t like having mud in my underwear.” He pats the seat next to him, realizing this conversation wouldn’t stay serious for much longer “Come and let’s watch this…. What is this movie again?”

“Say Anthing,” Alfred says as he moves to sit next to him, already trying to worm his arm around Francis. “It’s good. S’pretty mushy and stuff though.”

He laughs and kisses the American’s chin. “Then I will like it.” His eyes linger on Alfred’s face for a moment, and he asks quietly, “So you were really using a book to try and be more romantic, were you?” His voice is amused but curious.

After a short moment, Alfred blushes and nods. “’m not really good at stuff like this. Sorry.”

Francis shakes his head and laughs. “I suppose you are not, but I am not nearly as good as I thought I was at it either.” He pecks his lips. “En amour, on n’sait rien, I suppose.”

Alfred just blinks at him, confused. “What’s that mean?”

“Ahhh, nothing.” He smirks and mimics Alfred’s earlier words. “I heard it in a song once.”

They spend the afternoon watching the movie, making out on the couch afterwards. Alfred seems intent on making up for all the months of not saying ‘I love you,’ and he gasps it in between kisses.

Francis, of course, is satisfied and rather blissfully happy with this.

Later in the month, the first time he hears “Pleaaaase Francis I love you; come to the monster truck rally,” he realizes that he got out of one mess and into another one. He even says as much to Alfred, who just grins.

“But really,” Alfred tells him as he buys their tickets. “The mess is the fun part.”


	6. The Smutty Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This adds no major plot, so I put it at the end for anyone who isn't interested in reading dirty stuff.

“Red is a good color for you,” Alfred pants against the back of Francis’s neck as he bends the man over the hood of his Alfa Romeo Spider—his newly purchased 1970s roadster. He’s already stripped the man of his shirt, and his fingers are wandering almost aimlessly over his chest.

Francis’s response is cut off by the American biting down hard on his shoulder and sucking roughly. He cries out in surprise before he grinds back against him in retaliation. The sound that Alfred makes is rather gratifying, and when he catches his breath a bit, he murmurs, “Always got to have something in your mouth don’t you, mon Amérique?”

Alfred rolls his nipples between his fingers. “F-fuck you,” he mumbles as he continues to lick and suck at his skin.

“Mmm yes please do,” Francis responds instantly. He shudders noticeably: Alfred was very good with his mouth.

 Alfred shifts, and there’s a hot laugh against his ear. “Sh-shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Although Alfred has significantly less experience than Francis, what he lacks in finesse he makes up for with a single-minded passion. When the man gets an idea in his head to do something—in this case sex on the hood of his shiny red vintage car— he is very thorough. Blunt nails scrape down his chest, and a hot mouth marks his neck and shoulder. Really, this whole “messing around on the car,” thing was a very good idea.

Alfred is already going for Francis’s belt, but the man is much too distracted tasting Francis’s skin and grinding against him to get very far fast. 

“Here,” Francis murmurs, trying to straighten up enough that his hands are no longer needed to support him. “Let me…”

Clearly not liking this idea, Alfred shoves him down onto the cool hood again. “No! I can do it myself.”

Gasping as his cheek is pressed down against the car, he tries to turn his head enough to peak at Alfred. Although he loves touching and giving pleasure, he’s definitely not opposed to this sort of thing either. Still, Alfred is always rougher if he puts up a bit of resistance. “…. Brute!” he accuses softly as he tries again to stand up. “Must you always be so brusque?”

Once again, though, Alfred just pushes him back down as the belt slides free. He can practically hear Alfred roll his eyes, and it makes him smile. That is until Alfred’s fingers are shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Shut up,” comes Alfred’s sharp voice. “You like it.“

Indeed, Francis thinks as he moans around the fingers. Indeed.

While Francis takes the invitation and begins to suck on Alfred’s fingers, the other is already pushing his pants down. Francis shivers as his pants fall away, trying to push back into Alfred’s warmth. After several long moments of sucking and licking at his fingers as seductively as he can, he hears Alfred moan before he pulls free.  

“God, Francis, you really do look awesome like this…” he murmurs as he kisses at his spine.

Already, Francis can feel fingers pushing into him and he arches with a soft groan at the intrusion. He pants as Alfred starts to stretch him. “G-god huh?” he repeats with a grin. “Have you come to worship, mon Amérique?”

In response, the fingers shove deeper and curl, and he pushes back on him with a whine of pleasure. Alfred’s other hand closes around his member and starts to pump in time with his fingers.

“You’ve always gotta be such a smartass.”

“Mhm,” Francis agrees before changing the subject. “I put the lube in my pants pocket. It’ll work better than spit…”

With a hum of excitement, Alfred is already pulling away.  “Hold still!”

Of course, Francis’s immediate reaction is to straighten—well, try too at least. Alfred smacks his ass and nudges him back down. “Said hold still,” he repeats, voice petulant.

The smack had made Francis cry out though, and as Alfred stands up with the lube in hand, he teases him. “D’ya like getting your ass smacked? Damn you’re a perverted bastard.”

Before he even finishes his statement, Alfred is already shoving freshly lubed fingers into him. 

Pushing back on his fingers, he gasps. “Accusing me of being perverted while you’re shoving your fingers into my ass? Really Alfred?”

The American doesn’t respond though. He’s become impatient now, fingers moving rough and fast. More often than not, Alfred got impatient and needy during the stretching process. For several long moments, he’s scissoring his fingers and basking in the noises tumbling from Francis’s mouth.

When he’s ready, Francis begins to murmur encouragements in French. His voice is low and sultry, and he smirks when Alfred gasps and grinds his hips forward.

Alfred, he’d discovered quite by accident, really enjoys when Francis talks dirty to him in French. The American wouldn’t admit it of course, but then it wasn’t really hard to tell. All Francis had to do was coo some meaningless thing in just the right voice, and Alfred would be tripping over himself for more.   

A few more gasped French pleas gets Alfred’s pants down around his ankles as he pulls his fingers free to position himself. He molds himself against Francis’s back, and he kisses his neck.

Voice seductive, Francis coos in French, “Even when you’re in control, you’re not are you?”

Alfred shudders at the voice, shoving in instantly, and Francis gasps sharply of the pleasing burn of it. Alfred is rougher than he means to be, but the Frenchman wanted that, expected that. He is well aware of of the other man’s ticks now, adept at manipulating them. Really, Alfred was much too easy to read sometimes.

Predictability never seems to lessen the enjoyment of their love making though. As soon as Alfred starts to move, all of the thoughts in Francis’s head are gone. The first few thrusts are rough, erratic, but Alfred is using his superior strength to his advantage. He wraps a strong arm around Francis’s waist to hold him still while he starts a rough, steady pace.

Even with the support though, Francis finds it increasingly hard to hold himself up. Little moans fall from his lips at every thrust, and he can’t help but move his hips with Alfred. When fingers slide teasingly up the underside of his cock, he cries out and jerks forward. His arms aren’t keeping him up, and he falls forward to pillow his face against his arm. Alfred sees this as encouragement, taking him in hand and stroking.

Pillowed on one arm, Francis moves the other hand back to try and touch him—any of him. What he finds is Alfred’s hand on his hip, and he pulls his fingers up. At the tug, Alfred bends forward and presses against his back, and Francis begins to kiss at his hands and fingers.

He sneaks a tongue out once or twice to run his tongue along his digits, knowing that Alfred is watching his face now. When Alfred’s attention is focused entirely on his mouth, he starts murmuring encouragements to him in rapid French. He’s still kissing and licking at his hand and fingers, and his words are hot against Alfred’s skin. The other man is watching him, shuddering and giving this particular whining moan that Francis loves. 

Then Alfred is moving faster, rougher. His hand moves quicker too, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock to collect the precum gathered there.

Francis breath catches and he can’t concentrate anymore, voice and words trailing off into deep groans of pleasure.

But Alfred doesn’t seem to approve. “Don’t stop,” he growls next to his ear. “Keep talking. Lemme hear ya.”

After swallowing thickly, he tries again, but his voice is quiet, babbling, as Alfred continues to get rougher. Suddenly teeth are biting down on that sensitive area where neck meets shoulder, and he shouts in surprised pleasure. He knows Alfred is marking him, and he loves it. His voice is trailing off into incoherent sounds again.

“No, louder,” Alfred says before sucking hard on his bite mark. His free hand has wandered away from Francis’s mouth, toying vaguely with his nipple before pausing to adjust their position. He pushes Francis’s legs further apart, and while Francis is still adjusting, Alfred starts back at the same breakneck pace as before.

Francis scrambles for balance again, relying on the car and Alfred. He is panting hard now and he finds a comfortable way to pillow his head on his arm. The other hand is spread over the hood of the car, trying to keep from being pushed too roughly against the hood every time Alfred shoves into him.

“Your thighs are shaking…” Alfred says, voice trembling with pleasure. The realization makes his hand move faster, and for a few long moments, they’re both desperate, frenzied. Francis gasps out pleas in French and English, and the sound of his voice sends shudders through Alfred’s body.

Suddenly Alfred’s teeth is on on his skin again, biting at his shoulder, and the teeth, the tongue, the shuddering breath right against his skin finally tips Francis over the edge. He arches back against Alfred, crying out his name, his whole body shaking with pleasure as the other man races to his own climax.

When Francis is spent, Alfred just shoves him down, his pace becoming erratic and rough. His voice is coming in quick quiet pants that sound like Francis’s name, and his fingers are gripping at his skin. After a few moments, Alfred makes a quiet strangled sound of pleasure, and Francis shivers at the feeling of the other climaxing inside him.

After Alfred slips out of him, Francis gently shifts them and takes Alfred into his arms, holding him close against him. He knows the American loves to be held afterwards, and the Frenchman always obliges him. Stroking his hair, he murmurs, “I do believe I’ve christened your car for you, mon cher.”

The look of confusion on Alfred’s face is adorable, and he turns to see the hood of his car smeared with white. This makes him go scarlet in the face. How Alfred can get embarrassed about something so small after all they’d done together… well Francis doesn’t really understand it. He does really enjoy it though.

“Y-you realize you’re gonna have to clean that up r-right?” From the tone of Alfred’s voice, he can tell that he’s serious.

“We just had amazing sex and you’re going to scold me for enjoying it?” he asks, kissing Alfred’s hair. “I think I might just leave it though. So everyone will know what you’re doing when you stay at my house~”

Alfred shakes his head and starts tugging him toward the door, needing a snack but knowing that Francis will tease him if he says it out loud.

“Well… it was amazing,” is all Alfred will say. His cheeks are red and he’s a bit embarrassed by just how much he’d enjoyed that. “But I’m not riding around town with…..  _ _that__  on my hood, whatever you say.”

“Then, mon Amérique,” Francis says. “You’re going to have to clean it yourself. But first, you must come to the bath with me and clean me up.”

Shaking his head, Alfred says, “I don’t have to do anything for you! You should clean yourself up, you dirty old man.”

Francis starts to argue the advantages to romantic baths (filled, of course, with rose petals), but Alfred cuts in.

“Wait, do you have bubble bath stuff? If you have that stuff, I’ll take a bath with you. I love playing in bubble baths.”

“Yes I have bubble bath…” he admits. With a sigh, all thoughts of romantic, candlelit bathing time gone now, Francis allows himself to be dragged up the stairs by a suddenly very energetic American man. 


End file.
